


Dispatches from Sickbay

by Watchingds9forbashir



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, a little made-up medicine, handholding in sickbay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29971608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watchingds9forbashir/pseuds/Watchingds9forbashir
Summary: On the USS Discovery Hugh may not be the CMO, but he is many people's favorite. And not every day in sickbay is spent at Red Alert.A total mixed bag of dialogue-only snippets, shorter one-shots, missing scene fic, and whatever else.No specific time period, some may contain spoilers for seasons 2 and 3 of Discovery.
Relationships: Hugh Culber & Paul Stamets & Adira Tal, Hugh Culber/Paul Stamets, Keyla Detmer/Joann Owosekun, Mirror Hugh Culber/Mirror Paul Stamets
Comments: 48
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Adira recovers from a nasty case of the Terellian Flu with a little help.

Adira comes awake slowly, cracking their eyes open to see the sickbay ceiling slide slowly into focus, the lighting overhead dim. They're not sure how long they’ve been here, or why exactly. A hand is squeezing theirs gently. Dad. 

“Adira? Are you awake?” Paul asks, his head swimming up above where they’re laying on a biobed.

“Dad?” they say, cringing when their voice sounds dry and weak. 

“Yes, I’m here, and Papa Hugh. Hugh, get over here, they’re awake.” Paul turns to call over his shoulder before sitting down again in a chair at their bedside. His hand never leaves theirs, more than a little relief in his face. 

“It’s good to see your eyes open again, sweetheart.” Papa Hugh sweeps over and leans in to give them a hug, running gentle fingers over their hair. “How are you feeling?” 

Adira sinks back against the bed. “Tired,” they confess, smiling sleepily at their dads. 

“That’s completely normal, particularly since you’ve been fighting the Terellian Flu for the past four days, but you’re on the mend now,” Paul nods, reassuring presence at their side, his thumb rubbing circles in their knuckles, his other hand resting on their forearm. 

“Please, listen to him, since when did he attend medical school?” Hugh remarks wryly, tapping buttons on his PADD.

“Hey, I know a thing or two. I’ve  _ had _ the Tereillian Flu before, remember,” Paul retorts before changing the subject. “Is there anything we can get you? Are you hungry, or would you like another blanket, you know, you feel a little chilled, I’ll go get you one, hold on,” Paul says, standing and heading off. 

“And I thought you were the fussy one,” Adria quips, looking at Hugh.

“Oh, give your poor dad a break, Adira, he deserves the chance to fuss a bit. It’s been a long few days with you sick,” Hugh replies, rubbing their shoulder comfortingly as he administers something in a hypospray. That pulls Adira up short a little.

“I-I didn’t mean to make you worry,” they start to say, looking up at Hugh. He meets their gaze. 

“It's not your fault, we would have worried anyway," he says, shaking his head. "Call it dad’s prerogative to be concerned for their children when they’re ill.”

Adira nods, letting the feeling of guilt fade.

“Here we go kiddo, nice and cozy,” Paul says, returning to spread a cuddly-looking blanket over Adira, pulling it all the way up to their chin like they like. Adira has to admit the added warmth is nice.

“We should really get some fluids into you, Adira, and maybe some food if you feel up to it. Does anything sound good?” Hugh asks.

“Ummm, not sure,” Adira says.

“How about some mango juice? Your favorite,” Paul says, perking up in his seat with the suggestion. 

“Yeah, that sounds good actually,” Adira nods, watching as Hugh heads over to the replicator. When Hugh returns with their drink he sets it on a table he pushes up in front of them before taking a seat himself across from Paul, opting to rest his head on his folded arms on the edge of the biobed. Their dads share one of their typical, sappy looks across their blanketed knees.

“You know, it's actually a little disgusting how in love you both are,” Adira grins, taking a shaky sip of juice.

“You, person still recovering from an illness, be quiet and drink your juice,” Paul retorts, sharing an amused look with Hugh.

  
  



	2. Sixty-Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugh, Michael, and being dead for over a minute. 
> 
> Takes place between "The Red Angel" (2x10) and "Perpetual Infinity" (2x11).

_ Ten seconds.  _

He’s tearing past Spock, shoving the heavy door open and he’s gone, across the barren stretch of floor. 

_ Twenty seconds. _

Michael’s face is purple, still scrunched in the remembered agony of suffocation. He’s freed her restraints and got her stretched out in front of the chair so quickly it's inhuman. 

Oxygen, two liters. 

Tri-ox, pushing it now. 

_ Fourty.  _

Start compressions. 

_ C’mon Michael.  _

The line is flat until it's not, one second to the next. Michael gasps, jerking like a puppet with its strings cut. 

_ I’ve got you, I’ve got you.  _

He’s still breathing for her, pushing more meds when behind him Spock’s voice orders a transport. 

_ Sixty-five. _

  
  



	3. I can't feel my lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Operating the spore hub drive is not possible without an occasional minor accident.

“I can’t feel my lips.”

“Tilly, honey, I promise you your lips are still there. I had to give you a numbing agent for your face, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Of course I remember. But--” 

“No buts. Paul, hold her hand already while I start practicing dentistry without a degree over here.”

“ _Without_ a _degree_?” 

“He’s exaggerating, he’s got a certification Tilly.” 

“You’re gonna be fine, just try to relax. Squeeze the life out of my partner’s hand if you need to,” Hugh says, rubbing Tilly’s shoulder comfortingly before bringing a frankly scary-looking tool near her mouth. 

“Have I told you again how sorry I am that I picked you to be the one operating the spore drive during the jump, so that when we landed far too close to that black hole, your face went splat against the console and you chipped a few teeth?” Paul says all in a rush, wincing in sympathy for her. 

“Close your eyes, Tilly,” Hugh orders. “Now open up?” 

  
  



	4. Sickbay, in a Mirror Darkly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imperial Medical Officer Hugh Culber takes charge of a recalcitrant prisoner, I mean patient. 
> 
> TW: everything you would expect from a Mirror Universe fic, including non-con, sexual content, violence, descriptions of needles, blood, torture. Please, take care. Unlike the other chapters, this is rated M.

She has no way to gauge how long she’s been in the agonizers or “recovering” in the brig, but she thinks it's been days. Days since she was accused of passing along Lieutenant Stamets’ research to the rebellion, and committing treason against the Empire. And not once, not for one minute of that time, has she been allowed to lose consciousness. No, the members of the Emperor’s Honor Guard have done their best to prolong her punishment, to break her, to get her to reveal what she knows about the rebels' whereabouts. Luckily for her, she knows nothing. 

“Doctor Culber, I don’t remember calling for you,” Captain Tilly’s voice swims over into her hearing, but she doesn’t stir from her sprawl on the brig floor where they tossed her the last time. 

“It’s my turn with your prisoner, Emperor’s orders,” Culber answers, a threat in his voice. His orders are always above questioning. “It seems you’ve been unable to get the job done.” Tilly snarls in response. 

“Take her, then.” 

She lost the ability to resist many hours ago, so she makes no move to help or hinder Dr. Culber when she hears his boots march across the floor. Her head is flopped to the side, facing away from him, but she senses him crouching down to look at her a moment before a snap of his fingers calls a few attendants to his side. They pick her up like a sack of Leola roots and deposit her on a stretcher. The overhead lights of the brig, though dim, blind her nonetheless, and she drifts away as far as she’s capable. 

She doesn’t pass out, not exactly, but the next thing she’s properly aware of is a warm pair of hands securing her ankle to whatever flat, sparsely cushioned surface she’s stretched out on. She cracks one eyelid open to see the bulkheads of the _Charon’s_ sickbay and Dr. Culber leaning over her. 

“Hello sweetheart, still with me then?” he asks, smiling as he tightens the strap. 

She thinks hazily there could be a universe in which the word _doctor_ calls not to mind visions of torture, but healing, but that is not the universe she lives in. 

“Captain Killy didn’t have much luck at getting you to talk, but I’m sure you won’t give me the same trouble, will you?” he says conversationally, pulling a supply cart and instrument tray over. Ice steals over her heart at the sight, but of course, she’d known all along there would be no mercy for a traitor to the Empire. 

“If we’re going to get anywhere soon, I’ve got some work to do with you,” Dr. Culber sighs, as if the damage done is of her own doing. As if it’s makeup smudged or hairs out of place, not injuries littering her head to toe. She watches numbly as he pulls out a pair of shears and begins removing her uniform piece by piece until she’s naked to his gaze. 

Working under Lieutenant Stamets, she never did wear body armor, not that it could protect her now. His hands run over her injuries and body indiscriminately. Clever fingers find her cracked ribs, boot-shaped bruises on her stomach, the scratches littering her arms from Killy’s fingernails. He works methodically, and she’s able to give no outward sign of her protest until he reaches her thighs and what’s between them. 

Before she can stop it a whimper passses her lips, cracked and bleeding from dehydration.

“Easy honey, I’m not in the mood,” he says, prodding the finger sized bruises ringing her upper thighs from the initial struggle after her arrest. “Besides, you're dry as a bone right now, and it’s no fun if I have to lube you up first.” He turns away, slipping on a pair of black latex gloves before reaching for a needle. Her veins are surely collapsed at this point, but Culber finds a vein in the crook of her arm with ease regardless, and within a few moments has got some sort of clear liquid dripping steadily into her from a bag suspended from a hook overhead. She finds her eyes drawn to it, watching the flow through the clear tubing into her arm, mesmerized by it. She realizes she’s shivering, still completely bare to the chilled air of sickbay. 

“You know, I wouldn’t have thought one of Stamets’ minions would be capable of treason, but I suppose there’s a first time for everything,” Culber remarks, looking almost thoughtful as he runs some type of instrument over her ribs. Inside her, she feels a warm, prickly sensation in that area. Could he be knitting them? Why? 

“Usually he picks his assistants based on how well they can keep their mouth shut and head down, but not you, apparently. You're different.” Something stirs feebly in her chest. 

“Yes, I am,” she whispers, her gaze eventually meeting his. Still bent over her ribs, he turns slowly to look at her, a smile twisting his features. Torturer that he is, no one can argue the doctor isn’t absolutely gorgeous. It’s part of the deception, she thinks. 

“So you do speak,” is all he says before returning his gaze to her body. Culber works in silence for a time, the only thing filling the space are the distant screams and sounds coming from Medical’s private interrogation chambers, and nearer, the sounds of Dr. Pollard, the CMO, busy with her own prisoner of the Empire. The man’s wet gasping and pleading set her teeth on edge. 

The noises peeter off a few moments before footsteps draw near, and then Pollard is standing next to her, wiping her bloody hands carefully off on a towel. She runs a critical eye over her from head to toe while Culber remains preoccupied with switching out the bag of fluid draining into her. 

“She’s pretty skinny, I’d be happy to take her off your hands for you,” Pollard offers, a gleam in her eyes. In response, she musters up a snarl, tugging on her bonds in a sudden drive to retaliate. 

Culber strides across the floor to stand in front of her, placing a possessive hand on her ankle and getting in Pollard’s face. 

“That won’t be necessary just yet. I’ll let you know, of course. I know how desperate you are for specimens.” Pollard hisses at the remark. Distantly, she remembers Pollard’s “experiments” on the Empire’s prisoners, remembers the holo footage, the bodies waiting at the airlock. 

When Pollard stalks off a moment later, she’s surprised to feel herself relax back into the table. Culber looks down at her, noticing the movement. 

“If you don’t behave, I will hand you over to my talented colleague,” he says, moving up her body. “But I don’t want that for you. I want you to stay exactly where you are, so I can give you the attention you deserve,” he continues, stroking her hair before forcefully pressing her head into the cushion with one arm while the other shines a penlight into her eyes.

She’s roused by screaming and the sounds of a struggle. Sickbay is even more dimly lit than before, but she can still make out the fight occurring between another prisoner and his guards a few feet away. The agonizers must have beaten him into insanity, because he’s gibbering and shouting obscenities enough to rattle the metal plating. She has the futile urge to jump up from the table and out of the way, but she looks down to see she’s still immobilized at the ankle, her arm still with a needle in it. 

The tussle grows more intense as one or two medical corpsmen join in trying to subdue the prisoner, but then the prisoner, an Andorian, lashes out in her direction. He practically falls in her lap, tearing the needle brutally from her arm and sending them crashing to the floor. She hears the thunk of her head hitting the deck before she feels it, a blinding burst of white across her vision, and everything feels like she’s swimming through muck, through a muddy swamp. 

The Andorian disappears, replaced by a figure so pale he stands out even in the dim lighting, and Dr. Culber. She can’t make sense of things. There are hands pressing against the crook of her arm hard, words whispered harshly in her ear. _Play dead, play dead._

Well, she can do that, she thinks, submitting to the chaos around her. She volunteered to help the rebels, didn’t she. She’s all but been declared dead already.

She wakes wrapped up in a blanket in the back of a shuttlecraft, feeling the hum of warp speed under the seats she’s laying on. If she hasn’t been killed already, her headache certainly will do the job. 

“Hugh, she’s awake,” a curt voice says from the pilots’ seat. From her current position, she can only make out the top of the pilots’ head, and the blindingly bright blonde hair. She knows that hair. Stamets.

“Coming,” another voice calls, rising from the co-pilot's seat and heading toward her. Culber. She’s in no fit state to suppress her shudder at seeing him. 

“You?” she chokes out in disbelief.

“You’re too valuable to the rebellion, we weren’t about to just let you be killed at the Emperor’s hands,” Dr. Culber says, smiling again, but this time it's genuine. He takes a seat next to her, opening a medkit. 

“But you, you’re---” 

“Still a doctor, don’t worry,” he says, running a scanner over her. “Stamets, how long?” 

“About twenty minutes until the first checkpoint,” Stamets calls over his shoulder. Culber nods. 

“Listen, we’re dropping you there, a Vulcan transport will take you the rest of the way to the base before your next mission. I’m sure they’ll want to debrief Stamets too before they act.” 

“Wait, I, what is---” 

“Long live the rebel cause,” Culber grins, pressing a hypospray to her neck. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh, I opened a Doc and this fell out?????? 
> 
> Definitely falls under the "whatever else" category of my writing. 
> 
> I also could not write this without redeeming Hugh and Paul a tiny bit.


	5. Finding Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugh makes an important discovery when reviewing the crew's medical files.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References the events of "An Obol for Charon" (2x04) and "Saints of Imperfection" (2x05). Takes place probably early s3? 
> 
> TW: vomiting mention

Tilly’s just come off shift when she gets the alert on her PADD from Medical. Apparently, she has an appointment scheduled with Dr. Culber. Funny, considering she doesn’t remember making the appointment. Her brow creases in confusion, but she heads toward sickbay. Hopefully, the meeting will be brief, whatever it's about, and she can get some dinner in the Mess Hall. Keyla’s off tonight as well, and they were planning on going head-to-head in Kadis-kot. 

She enters sickbay to find it quiet and no sign of Dr. Culber anywhere, so she crosses the hall and stops outside his office to knock. 

“Come in,” he calls, and Tilly pushes the button to open the door. Inside, Dr. Culber’s just getting up from his desk. 

“Tilly, I’m glad you got my message,” he greets her, going in for what she assumes will be a hug, and steering her toward a cushioned chair in front of his desk instead. 

“Can I get you anything? Water? A snack?” he asks, sitting her down in a chair and taking a sip from his own glass sitting on his desk. 

“Uh, no, I’m good. I’m about to grab dinner,” Tilly says. She can’t help but think something’s a little off with the doctor. “So, what’s this meeting about?” 

“I’ll get into it, we’re just waiting on one other person to get here.” Just then, there is a chime and the office door slides open. “Oh great, Paul, you’re here. Have a seat,” Hugh says, gesturing to the chair next to Tilly’s. 

“I didn’t know we had an appointment until I checked my PADD a few minutes ago. What’re you doing here, Tilly?” Paul says, his head cocked in confusion as he nevertheless enters and takes a seat. Hugh sinks into the chair behind his desk, folding his hands on the tabletop in front of him. 

“I was looking over some old entries recently,” Hugh begins, looking from Paul to Tilly, “in the crew’s medical files. So I could stay up to date with everyone and cover the time I spent in the network, and do you know what I found?” He sounds as if he’s simply curious about their response, but Tilly looks down, noticing his knuckles have turned white. Tilly and Paul share a look, bewildered, but it's clear he’s expecting a reply.

“No, I don’t Hugh.” Paul says slowly. 

“No Dr. Culber.” Hugh nods at Tilly’s response before continuing. 

“Well, I found something quite  _ interesting  _ in Ensign Tilly’s file. Something I couldn’t believe was entered correctly. Until I talked to Jett about it. And she also had something  _ interesting  _ to tell me about Tilly’s file. Do either of you know what she could be referring to?” He’s glaring at Paul now.

“Hugh, I can explain--” 

“Dr. Culber, please, you don’t----” 

“That’s what I thought,” Hugh says quietly. He gets up from his chair slowly and stalks over to stand in front of Paul. He leans over into Paul’s space, blocking off any attempt to stand up or look anywhere but at Hugh as he continues. 

“Now, let’s try for the whole story. What on God’s green Earth were you thinking when you drilled a hole into Tilly’s head, planted a jury-rigged cortical implant inside said hole, and oh yeah, did this all using a poorly sterilized drill you found on the Engine room floor without anesthesia? Hmm?” He pushes himself away from Paul’s chair, arms crossed against his chest, waiting. 

“We did, there was a song, and we sang it, t-together. And that helped. It had a certain anesthetic quality,” Tilly offers meekly, her hands fidgeting in her lap. 

“The ship was malfunctioning because of the sphere data. We were completely blocked off from the rest of the ship, and there was only the one medkit available,” Paul says. 

“Which contained a strong analgesic, if I’m not mistaken, you could have given to Tilly, yet you didn’t,” Hugh argues, his voice rising in volume.

“That must have gotten lost or something, I don’t remember,” Paul waves the suggestion away, then looking seriously like he doesn’t actually remember any such hypospray being present at the time in question.

“There wasn’t time, Dr. Culber, we had to find a way to talk to May. We didn’t have a laser scalpel!” Tilly interjects, looking at Paul for confirmation.

“How come Jett’s not in here getting the third degree from you? She was there too,” Paul retorts. 

“Because you did the drilling, Paul. And whoever does the drilling gets to hear about it from me,” Hugh counters, smiling even as his tone of voice says he’s anything but pleased. “And what’s maybe even more reprehensible than the actual act itself is that afterwards, you let Tilly go back to her quarters without reporting to sickbay. The level of carelessness--” Hugh puts his head in his hands. Tilly takes advantage of the momentary silence.

“That was all me, doctor. I was totally fine. Stamets patched me up and I think May actually did something too? I’m not sure, but I felt completely fine after, I swear. I mean, not  _ completely  _ fine. I may have thrown up a little in my quarters when I got back, but I think all it was was a stress reaction or something, but after that I really felt totally normal.” Paul and Hugh both stare at her. 

“Well, since neither of you actually posses medical degrees, I’m going to run every scan and test on you that I deem necessary Tilly, to ensure  _ doctor _ Stamets over here hasn’t in fact, caused you brain damage,” he says gesturing to Stamets and nodding at her. “And while I’m doing that, you are both getting a lecture on the responsibility of Starfleet officers to report injuries, not to mention, the many, many reasons why it's a horrible idea to go drilling into people’s skulls without a certain degree of medical knowledge and the proper equipment.” At his direction, Tilly and Paul obediently rise and follow him the short distance to the room’s biobed. 

“Now Tilly, you’re going to lay back on this biobed and get comfortable,” Hugh says, gently helping her lay down with a cheerful yet menacing smile on his face. “Paul’s going to sit on this stool and hold your hand,” he adds, arranging Paul on a stool at Tilly’s side. “ And I’m going to get started.” 

“It won’t happen again,” Paul says after a moment of silence, looking from Hugh pressing buttons on the scanner to Tilly lying there. He squeezes her hand in his, looking genuinely sorry.

“Oh I know it won’t happen again, because if it did I’d kill you before that drill touched anything besides the screws in the deck plating,” Hugh says, beginning the first scan. 

Dr. Culber must misread Tilly’s shiver of fear at his words for her being cold and quickly fetches her a blanket, muttering obscenities in Spanish that the universal translator chooses not to decipher. 

  
  



	6. Hook, Line, and Sinker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugh has his own methods of dealing with reluctant patients.

“Ensign Sitel, here to take a look at my biobed?” 

“Sorry I couldn’t come sooner, sir, there were a lot of issues to clear up on deck 8.” 

“Oh, that’s okay. At least you're here now. It’s this one.” 

“What seems to be the problem with it?” 

“Computer, privacy.” 

“Doctor Culber, what’s--?”

“It’s time, Ensign. You sit your butt on this biobed and let me examine you, okay? You’re two whole weeks overdue for a full systems scan.” 

“I can’t believe I fell for it.”

“Hook, line, and sinker, Ensign. You're going to lay there and be still until I say so. See? You're already doing such a good job of it,” Hugh grins, tapping buttons to activate the scanner. 

  
  



	7. Burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nilsson runs afowl of a plasma conduit.

Her first long breath in sends slivers of pain across her entire back and side. Burning, she’s burning. She can’t control the noise that slips past her lips, her body registering the pain before her mind’s fully awake. She peels an eye open and nothing makes sense because she’s facing what can only be the white floor of sickbay. She’s laying on her front, not her back, she thinks sluggishly. 

“Nilsson, are you awake? It’s Cece. You have severe plasma burns on your back. Dr. Culber and I are almost done healing them, that’s why you're laying on your front.”

“Cece,” she gets out, but her voice doesn’t sound like hers. She can’t keep laying here like this when there’s work to be done in Engineering, she was helping…

Underneath where her head is resting against a soft cushion her hands twitch, attempting to push herself up 

“Dr. Culber, she’s coming around.” Footsteps draw nearer, a pair of legs in a white Medical uniform, then Dr. Culber is crouching in front of her. He reaches out to take her uncooperative hands in his larger ones, leaning in to meet her gaze. 

“Nilsson, Nilsson, look at me, you're okay,” he soothes, squeezing her hands gently, running one over her undamaged shoulder. “There was an accident in Engineering, and you got burned pretty badly by the plasma conduit failing. Cece and I are almost done with the regeneration process on your back, but you have to keep lying still in this position for a little while longer. Do you understand?” 

“Okay, I’m oh,” she replies, feeling like she’s choking, her tongue thick and throat tight. She realizes there’s tears stinging her eyes. She feels at once too connected to her body and the searing pain and also removed, her brain off-kilter

“I know you're hurting right now,” Culber is saying. “I can give you a sedative if you’d like. It won’t completely knock you out, just dull things a bit more. Would you like that?”

“Yes,” she says after a long moment, her hands twitching uncontrollably where they’re now clutching Culber’s. 

“I’ll take care of it, doctor,” Cece says, moving to fill a hypo. A few moments later she feels Cece return to press it against her neck. She doesn’t feel the sedative’s effects at first, but then it's like slipping into a hot spring on Risa, an all-encompassing warmth.

“Any better?” Dr. Culber asks. He reaches up with one hand, and she can feel him wiping at the moisture around her eyes.

“Mmhmm,” she says, feeling her body unravel more, sinking more fully into the bed.

“Try to relax. We’ve got you,” he assures her before standing again. 

She slips in and out, catching only scattered conversation between Dr. Culber and Cece as they apply something that stings faintly to her bare back and one side, over her ribs before running some piece of equipment that emits a hypnotic humming noise over her for a long time. 

Periodically, she’s roused by a hand on her shoulder, her arm, a quick squeeze of her unburned calf when she makes an involuntary noise in reaction to the tugging sensation of one of the instruments. Checking on her. 

“Almost done,” Cece announces.

“Still doing okay?” Dr. Culber, squeezing her hand. 

“Mmm,” she blinks sleepily. 

Hands, combing her hair to the side, off her back. She’s not burned there too? Cece’s braiding her hair, she thinks. 

“Get some rest, we’re finished for now,” Cece says into her ear.

Nilsson drifts. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since we don't know the names of any of the nurses in Discovery, I took the liberty of creating my own, hence Cece.


End file.
